“Here.” The answer came from behind him.
Laird MacKenna had crossed the hall without Ciaran hearing him. He wore no formal coat, only a hastily tied robe over a shirt. The side of his face still bore the healing burns. His hair was mussed from sleep. But his eyes were fully alert.
Ciaran turned to him and did not waste either of their time with comfort he could not justify. “She has been taken.”
MacKenna’s face tightened. He absorbed the blow in silence, then asked, “How many men do ye need?”
Ciaran answered at once because there was no room left for false pride. “All ye can spare.”
“Ye shall have them.”
MacKenna did not raise his voice. He did not stumble. He turned toward the nearest guard and began issuing orders of his own.“Wake me men and arm them. Nay one rides half-prepared and slows the rest. If there is news from MacKenna lands, I want it held until I ask for it.”
The guard ran.
Ciaran watched him for one second with a bitter taste in his mouth. MacKenna had placed his people under this roof. He had trusted him, and he had been grateful.Yet, Ava had been taken anyway.
“I thought ye could protect her.”
The words came out quietly, but they landed harder than any rebuke could have.
Ciaran met the older man’s eyes. There was grief there. There was an accusation, too. MacKenna had not come to rage at him like a broken father in a ballad. He had come to speak the one truth that had already sunk its teeth into Ciaran’s throat.
He wassupposedto protect her.
Every part of him wanted to say that he had tried. That he had sent guards. That he had opened his home. That he had doneevery practical thing a man could do after the fire. But none of it mattered enough. His wife was gone.
“I will bring her back,” he vowed.
MacKenna said nothing.
Ciaran took one step closer, the crushed note still in his hand. “If it is the last thing I do, I will bring her back.”
MacKenna held his gaze for one long second and then gave a short nod. “Then go.”
Ciaran turned without another word.
The yard was already alive. Men were dragging saddles into place, tightening girths, and checking blades. Horses stamped and blew clouds into the cold morning air. One of Hector’s men was fastening a waterskin to the rear of a saddle while another slung a coil of rope over his shoulder.
The gates stood open just wide enough to let the first riders through when the order came.
Hector met him on his horse. “Tracks?”
“We ride first to the break in the road.” Ciaran took the reins. “After that, we follow whatever the ground will give us. If itsplits, we split. I also want runners back to the castle every hour, whether they have news or nae.”
“Aye.”
“This isnae just any other task, Hector. This is me wife. I want her found.”
Hector handed him his gloves. “And if we find the bastard himself?”
Ciaran pulled his gloves on, finger by finger. “Then pray he has already made peace with God.”
He mounted in one motion.
The horse shifted under him, eager and ready. Around him, the other riders swung themselves up into their saddles. Bruce tore into the yard and barked furiously at the horses as if he meant to join the search. One of the grooms caught him before he was crushed by a hoof.
Ciaran looked once toward the upper windows of the castle. Somewhere behind that stone was Ava’s chamber, empty now because he had failed her too many times and someone else had taken advantage of every crack left by his weakness.
